Fatal Illness
by CrazygurlMadness
Summary: One thing with having a functional brain ― a very rare thing these days, might I add, ―: you’re never completely sure of something because, well, you have two brains in one. Smart move, God. Give me two lobes. Right. Real smart. LxZ


**I know the title sounds ominous, but it's in fact what I would call a humor piece. In other words, it's a bit sarcastic. Don't worry.**

**Disclaimer:** "You know, he's sitting between two girls, being fed and cuddled and he's watching the Lord of the Rings. No wonder he's a happy cat."—Me, talking about IP's 16 year-old cat, Gucci.

**Warning:** None, really. I guess I could warn for the tiny language, but anyone in age to read here has heard bad words. A waste of good pixels, just mentioning this, actually.

**And now, please enjoy my first attempt at witty writing.**

**Ha. Haha. Ha.**

**I'm so funny. Hear the joke? Me, witty writing? Crazy, man. Crazy, I tell ya!**

Fatal Illness 

**By CM**

The air smelled of fruity alcohol and little salted pastries. I scrunched my nose.

Why on Earth was I, Zelda Harkinian, even sitting near this buffet, all dressed up for the dance floor and instead completely lonely by a table of disgusting, soggy tuna sandwiches without any traces of crust? Impa kept on telling me that the crust was the most nutritious part of bread, and I was wondering how people could _not_ like it.

I was also wondering why I was _still_ here. My date had left me half-an-hour ago to go get us some drinks and never returned. I'd chosen to omit saying we were already beside the drinks table, and that walking all the way across the room was a useless quest. Instead, I shut my big trap and watched him disappear in the crowd. That was half-an-hour ago. I think I'd seen him once or twice making out with different people. Well. I was _pretty_ sure they were all female. It was hard to tell. The lighting was dim.

In any case, here I was, still at the same spot as before, and I was feeling grim. I never really liked social events like this. They were, in the truest sense of the word, a waste of time and money. If people wanted to meet and dance, they could just go to a club. Yet, apparently, my logic was the only thing keeping me sane in here.

Another reason for me to feel ―and possibly look, ― glum was that I'd actually done an effort to put on some nice clothes and applied make-up, and no one had noticed.

It's always like this. Back home, in front of your mirror, you think you're gonna be a blast, what with the cute baby blue shirt and stuff, but as soon as you step into the ballroom, WHAM! You're supplanted by all the other, much prettier women. And your cute baby blue shirt goes completely unnoticed. Heck, _you_ go unnoticed.

Of course, my not being a social butterfly didn't help, but a girl can hope, right?

Oh, geez, Zel', I muttered to myself. Well, I don't actually mutter to myself. I have conversations though, in my brain, and I'm assuming my lips are synched to my thoughts, and just mouth whatever witty phrase I feel like saying.

Which, though strange it may sound, actually turns out to be quite the handicap if you're not careful.

You can't actually hope to change your situation so damn quick with a blasted shirt, I thus mumbled under my breath. And though my logical side of the brain told me this fact was entirely accurate, the other part of my brain disagreed, sending electrical messages of hope to my conscious. That's one thing with having a functional brain ― a very rare thing these days, might I add, ―: you're never completely sure of something because, well, you have two brains in one. Smart move, God. Give me two lobes. Right. _Real_ smart.

Anyway, I was still sitting here, muttering to myself and the few glances I received were disturbed ones. I can't blame them. I wasn't really meant to be here. I didn't want to mingle, I wasn't up for dancing on my own, and I was, it seemed, a Satan worshipper.

At least, that's what most people seemed to think.

I'm so pathetic.

At that, once again, my left lobe concurred, and my right side tried cheering me up. A rather freaky experience, but I live it day after day. A sad story, really.

Soft music was playing, and people were squashed together, as though slow dancing was really all about feeling up the other person. I wish things were like in the olden days, when people would dance because it was fun, and not because it was the cool thing to do. In fact, I wish things were always done because it was fun, and not based on what people assume should be correct and well seen.

And sitting on my ass, muttering these things under my breath without speaking to anybody, was not going to change the world.

I needed fresh air, away from the salted pastries. They were getting to me, with their unknown filling. I stood on shaky legs. It was a pity, actually. My light, below the knee skirt was nice and fitting, by traditional standards. It moved with every step I made, and it was . . . flow-y. And my thin-strapped sandals were nice too. They actually made my ankles look sexy.

Not that anyone would notice my sexy ankles, of course. A real pity.

The realization dawned on me as I slowly walked to the exit. I was a nobody, and no one would notice my absence. Not even my date, who had apparently used me as a tool to not look foolish coming alone, and then dropped me as soon as the party started.

It didn't matter though. It really didn't.

My left, logical side of the brain was making me feel dumb for hoping to be finally accepted. I'm really an idiot with hardly any common sense.

My heart throbbed. It wasn't because of loneliness. Hell, that was the one thing that hadn't left me all night. What really hurt was knowing that I was most likely more beautiful than I'll be on my wedding day (that's assuming I'll get married one day), and nobody had even slightly bothered to notice.

I tugged at a strand of my blonde hair. I am gifted with nice hair. It shimmered in the lighting. That and my natural make-up put together made me look perfectly acceptable, by Hollywood standards. And that idiotic date of mine hadn't even seen it.

Well, maybe Hollywood had been wrong all along? Maybe nobody cared for the cute but smart girl with sexy ankles, and instead wanted a dumb bitch to slow dance with all night.

It seemed the most likely possibility.

Alright, so I was heartbroken. You would be too.

I suppressed a sigh, my chest heaving but not deflating until a few seconds later. I pushed the glass doors open. They were built to close automatically, but I kept them ajar, waiting for Lord-knows-what. I'm thinking my right side was taking over and giving me hopeful thoughts again. That's the thing with being a girl. You're always hopeful, no matter what you say. Quite frankly, it sucks.

I stepped out softly, knowing that no one would notice me. And it was the very hope of being wrong that made me look up. . .

. . . And catch the most intense gaze I ever saw.

You know what they say happens in the movies? When the heroine holds the gaze and smirks confidently, before sending a come hither look and struts out?

Well, that didn't happen. It really didn't.

The moment I realized someone was staring at me I made this wide-eyed face, squeaked under my breath and frantically hurried out, looking like a frightened ghost.

Smooth. Real smooth. Ah, heck, he must have been short sighted and couldn't see what the blurb of movement at the door was, and wondered if it was the mascot of the event or something. As hopeful as the thought was, this time both sides of my brain told me I was deranged. Someone had been watching me. The idea was both frightening and flattering. I, of course, opted to believe it was more frightening than anything else.

Still, my heart tingled all over. I must have caught a cold. Crap.

As I pulled my shawl over my shoulders and was ready to step out of the entrance hall, contemplating a good glass of water with antibiotics, the door to the ballroom slammed open, and I turned to face a breathless guy, whose 'intense gaze' had caused me to panic like a wild goose.

Oh, I probably didn't mention he was the most gorgeous guy I'd ever met. An insignificant detail, without a doubt.

So as I stared at him without an ounce of grace (my mouth was half open and my nose was a bit scrunched), he jogged over to where I stood and outstretched his hand.

And since my brain was attacked by a virus or something and had yet to receive help in the form of antibiotics, I thought he wanted either a high-five, or maybe money. My facial features relaxed into confusion, and I stared at his hand, wondering which of the two options was most likely and to which I should respond, if I chose to.

I think he must have realized my brain was frozen and dying, because he caught his breath and spoke, in a voice which totally didn't give me shivers (or make my heart tingle again― poor little thing), "Do you want to dance?"

To which my intelligent reply was, "Huh?"

And instead of making a face, snorting in mockery and lowering his hand before walking away, he raised it just a little more, inching a bit closer, and repeated, a tiny smile on his lips, "Please, do you want to dance?"

By then, my brain was long gone, and I resorted to the only mode of defense I knew, which in fact wasn't defense at all: I looked astonished. "You want to dance with _me_?"

He laughed at that. I didn't really understand what was funny. To me, the whole evening had been a waste of time and was hardly a reason to laugh lightly like nothing was wrong with the world. I mean, my brain was _dead_! A great source of common sense had just passed away!

Still, he was holding out his hand, patient, and ―dare I say it?― encouraging. So, I did what my brain would have prevented me from doing had it been alive (bless its tortured soul): I put my hand in his much larger one. I then, of course, fleetingly remembered that I was at his mercy, since he had a hold on me. Oh, I would have known better had my brain not been mercilessly attacked by an unnamed virus.

The thought was brief, because the instant he closed his fingers on mine, he was so gentle that all perfectly logical thoughts of self-defense, which I was, mind you, perfectly in right to think of, completely flew from my mind.

And what's scariest: I totally didn't give a damn.

It didn't matter that my date had dropped me. It didn't matter that I'd been lonely all evening. It didn't matter that I was beautiful and unnoticed. It didn't matter that my heart and brain were either sick or dead.

In fact, I think they were resurrecting.

Nevermind the fact that I was going to stay a Satan worshipper in people's minds.

A guy I'd never met before had noticed me and asked me to dance, and he was now putting his hands on my waist and pulling me close as the voices of singers were culminating to reach the peak and best part of the song. I couldn't help it. I stepped just that much closer to find out what it was really like to dance with someone.

And he smiled softly, like he was happy I did.

My left side of the brain was a bit miffed by the victory of my right and emotional side. They were back in action, though my heart still tingled. Medicine could wait, I decided.

He brought a hand up to the back of my head and pulled me closer so that I was leaning onto his shoulder and could see his dark blonde locks. I felt light-headed. Well, my brain had just come back from the dead, so I suppose it was understandable. And anyway, it was rather pleasant.

"My name is Link. What's yours?"

It registered in my mind that two perfect and complete strangers were dancing close to one another, and though I happened to be one of the two strangers, I didn't feel threatened at all.

"Zelda," I whispered back, in his ear as he had to me. I could feel him smiling faintly, and he said nothing for a long time. When he did, he sounded content.

"I noticed you were all alone after your date left you. I didn't want you to leave before having a nice time. I hope it's not too pretentious."

I smiled. His skin and clothes smelled good, like something both warm and earthy, only a thousand times better.

Yeah, my brain was still on the recovery road.

"It's not." I don't know why we were whispering. No one could hear us, but we were whispering in each other's ear like we had confidential matters to discuss. Only it was less serious. And much more wonderful. "I appreciate it, thanks."

His hand searched out mine. I hesitated, but finally let him hold it. I don't know why I was unsure, considering that he was the gentlest and kindest guy I'd ever met. And most gorgeous too. I know it's wrong to judge people by their looks, but god, this guy had everything Hollywood would want. And that's saying a lot.

"I don't suppose I can hope to ask you what you were muttering about earlier?" He mumbled in my hair. I think he was appreciating the shampoo I'd put in. I wasn't sure, because I was too busy realizing his breath was warm on my ear and that all cerebral activity had been focused on one matter: I wanted to kiss him.

Only I didn't, because that would imply I wouldn't reply to his question, and that would simply be rude.

"I was merely contemplating the negative effects of social events on one's health."

Before you ask, yes, the words escaped me because I have a big trap, and not because I'd planned to let my earlier thought train be revealed. I'd really aimed at seducing this guy with my sexy ankles.

And, being the wonderful source of surprises Link had proven himself to be, instead of stepping back and staring at me weird, he chuckled in my neck, sending delighted shivers down my spine. They were not delighted on purpose, might I add. It just happened ―_completely_ through statistical _chance_― to be extremely satisfying and grand and gratifying to make him laugh. I was not shivering because he was the most gorgeous man ever to grace my presence and that his chuckle was the sexiest I'd ever heard. I was shivering because of that . . . that virus my heart had contracted.

It was tingling more and more. I really needed to get help.

The song was drawing to a close, and, I was pretty sure, so was our dance. Like _hell_ I'd let this guy walk away. That would just be a blow to my admitted ego, and it wouldn't do.

_I_ would walk away first. He wouldn't know what had struck him, and my sexy ankles would forever etch themselves in his mind.

Or maybe he'd most remember the huge and completely unladylike stumble I suffered, tripping over my heels and said sexy ankles even as I stepped away. In fact, I'd have fallen to the tiled floor if he hadn't lunged forward and caught me with an audible 'oof!'

And, because everything had been going wrong this evening, and because I simply couldn't manage to get out gracefully at the least, and because I'd obviously forgotten that I was still lying on top of my savior, I broke down.

To my credit, I must say that my tearing fit wasn't an all-out sniffle and sob session, instead keeping to subtle tears and a cute biting of my lip, which, at the moment, wasn't very cute, so much as proof of my embarrassment and exhaustion.

In short, I started crying in Link's clean white shirt.

And you know what? He didn't say a thing, simply holding me close and letting me cry it all out, patient as ever. When, finally, I was back under a semblance of control and my shoulders had stopped quaking, he took out a small, half empty plastic pack of Kleenexes, and offered me one, still completely quiet.

Now absolutely certain that I'd blown it completely with the hunk sitting below me, I shamelessly accepted it and blew my nose, before rubbing off the running mascara from my eyes. He said nothing like, "You done already?" or "You're getting heavy, would you mind?" or "I can't see my feet," but I assumed he'd want his legs back for personal use and not as a seat, so I stood shakily. He was up faster than me, and I preferred to look away, so as to not see him throw me a disgusted look and walk away.

When I glanced down, however, I saw his hand outstretched to me. And I saw his patient, gentle face waiting for me to understand he wanted to help me up.

And he smiled.

I almost broke down all over again.

I would have, had I not been too busy listening to his voice, which was all the more sexy once I realized I'd never hear him again after tonight.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, sounding sincerely kind. "You fell pretty hard. I wouldn't want you wounded or anything." And he winked. "You've got nice sandals. It'd be sad to disfigure your feet under the straps. They're really adorable."

I think I stared at him open-mouthed, because he immediately sobered up and looked concerned.

"Seriously, you're not injured, are you?"

"N―No," I stammered. Honestly. I _stammered_. I, Zelda Harkinian, was going mad. "I'm fine. You―" Oh gosh, the words I said next hurt my ego. "―You can let me mope alone if you can't stand it."

At that blatant expression of self depreciation, Link frowned, as though he didn't understand. Since I hadn't taken his hand, he gently grasped my elbow and was pulling me up. Then, because I couldn't be embarrassed enough, he got down on one knee and started examining my ankle, prodding at it, to make sure it wasn't swelling.

"I―I'm okay!" There I was, stammering again. "Really, it doesn't hurt! Please stop pretending you're concerned. I'm fine. Stop embarrassing me!" My voice was still shaky. Link's warm fingers lingered on my skin before he stood again, practically five inches taller than I was. And then it registered that he wasn't exactly being wonderful on purpose: his worry was perfectly heart-felt.

His eyes were so blue. My heart went tingly all over. He brushed aside a strand of my hair that had stuck to my wet cheeks and his thumb strayed close to my lips, where it softly touched them. I hardly felt it, but my skin was all warm afterwards.

I was definitely sick. I needed medication now. As soon as possible, in fact.

"I never meant to embarrass you," he whispered. And if my heart could stop playing the salsa beat it was apparently rehearsing, I'd be able to listen a bit better to what he was saying. "I really hope you're fine. I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt because I wasn't quick enough."

And I, being the stupid girl I was, interrupted him, raising a hand to speak. "Look, I'm okay, so enough about the false concerns. Get back to the party. I've been fine and I always will be. I don't need anyone's help. Sorry I wet your shirt."

Of course, I knew that my accusations of falsehood were completely wrong, because he was obviously honestly worried. In fact, the second I turned my back on him and took a step away, a huge surge of guilt overwhelmed me.

I was scum.

Link, on the other hand, didn't seem content with simply being rid of me. He caught my wrist and spun me around, fixating his gaze directly into my eyes, and being the weakened-by-the-virus girl I was, I couldn't find the strength to look away.

"If I didn't care for your happiness, I wouldn't be here in the first place."

I was perfectly aware of this, and it seemed that Link noticed it in my face, because his voice quieted down. After a short silence, he spoke again, ever so softly.

"Why are you so scared, Zelda?"

I had to take a deep breath, because I was once again on the verge of tears. I opened my mouth, shook my head, tried getting a sound out, but I finally simply closed my eyes tightly, biting my lip.

Link's hand on my cheek made me open my eyes again. This time he didn't show any expression that was clear. It was more of a mix of various feelings. I was too tired to analyze them. He spoke again, as gentle as before. "I won't make fun of you. I swear."

And he kissed me. I don't remember much of it, because I was too shocked. All I can say is . . .

It was the best thing since discovering chocolate chip cookies.

He took my hand, dragging me along to the wall, and let me sit in a straight-backed chair that was there.

"I understand that you're afraid of people because of how they are, but I promise you, Zelda, if ever I have the chance to protect you, I will. I saw you and I noticed you were so alone. Lonely people are different. I―" He sighed, combing a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to say this. I can't say I have fallen for you. At least not yet. But there's something that just makes me want to smile and be happy for the rest of my life. I don't know what it is yet. It's all new to me."

"Do you have antibiotics?"

Okay, I was _way_ delirious. I'm _so_ stupid. In my defense, I could say it was _his_ fault for being so intoxicating and perfect.

Link, however, looked a bit amused.

"Um, no. Why? Are you feeling pain somewhere? A fever?"

And, sounding like the normal idiot I truly was, I went on.

"My heart's been tingling since I walked out of the ballroom, and when you first came up to me, my brain went for a walk. I thought it had died. I think I'm sick. I mean, every time you talk to me, my heart tingles again, I swear it's unnatural. I think I caught a virus."

Link said nothing, a tiny, uncomprehending smile on the corner of his lips.

And then, we came to the conclusion at the same time. Link looked happily surprised. I was horrified. Both sides of my brain would have rolled on the floor in laughter and mockery, if they weren't already encased in a rather solid box called My Thick Skull. And that's how I knew what virus I'd caught.

Love.

**And that's that. Accept it as your fate or be forever covered in stuffed pandas. (It sounds cute for the first minute or two, but try living your life buried beneath a pile of stuffed pandas. It's not so cute anymore.)**

**Anyway, yeah. Happy 2005, y'all! We're that much closer to the LoZ2005 release!!!!!! SQUEAL**

**Love to all (and to everyone else who might feel too special to be included in the generic word 'all'),**

**CM**

**PS: DoD, I know you're gonna press that nice shiny purple button with the review at the end of it. RESIST! Don't prove once again that you're stalking me!**


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